You Say You Want a Resolution

Here's the thing: I have this love/hate relationship with New Year's Resolutions. I have this never-ending pro/con list about them.

Pro's:

• They stir you to think about your life afresh in terms of making positive impact on things you can change.
• They give you something to think and obsess about during the darkest most dismal month of the year.
• Post Christmas, they allow you think you are going to fix all the things you are doing wrong, like eating pumpkin roll for lunch.
• They sometimes work.

Con's:

• They eat at you constantly nagging your mind about all the crap you're not good at, like ending clauses in prepositions.
• They give you something to think and obsess about during the darkest most dismal month of the year.
• Pre-bright, shiny New Year, they make you feel like you are failing at life and you need to change everything to be good enough for this fabulous new yearishness.
• They never really work.

I am an anal-retentive, crazy, obsessive, worrier of a person and something about the idea of making a resolution appeals to the whirring noise in my head. On the other hand, the feeling of failing when you suddenly realize that you've eaten an entire cheesecake and it's only January 4th is pretty horrific. Last year, I resolved not to worry so much about my resolutions and I think it's the only resolution I've ever kept. Pretty impressive. So, yesterday, I sat down with a notebook and pencil and I started thinking about what I could do to make 2011 better: more dinners at the table (we almost always eat together, but lately, due to The Husband's work schedule and my inability to keep the table cleaned off, we've eaten a few too many dinners around the coffee table), finally making family game night a reality, REALLY taking the GRE, more cooking from scratch, more veggies, more walking, more music - less TV, more writing, less complaining, more laundry, more stories, more cuddling, less worrying, more cleaning. Then, I started narrowing down: a table's a table, really. And I ended up with a list of ten.

Ten New Year's resolutions, and if that's not setting myself up for failure, I have no idea what is.

But the overarching theme, here, is more time. Spend more time with the kids, more time on myself, more time on my writing, more time on the house. I don't know where I think this time is going to come from. I guess I plan on not sleeping in 2011. I wonder if people still take diet pills to clean house...

I'm not sharing my resolutions, because, well, failure is one thing, but public failure... That I can live without. The upshot is that I could look at that list and be discouraged, feel like it's truly impossible to make that kind of change in my life. I could shrug, say the old bit about 24 hours in a day and go on just like I am now. I could keep thinking that I could be more, that I should be more, that I used to be more and never trying to be more RIGHT NOW. But I'm not going to. Sure, I'm going to fail at most of those resolutions, perhaps even all of them. That's fine. That's life. But I'm going to try.

This year, a lot is going to change in the Scattered House. A whole lot. And this time next year, I'm going to be a happier person.

What's In My Crochet Bag - The Sweater that Almost Wasn't Edition

I've been frantically crocheting for weeks now. I finished a good portion of what I wanted to get done. I guess the important piece is that everyone got a gift. The biggest project I worked on was a sweater. I came close a couple of times to just tossing it and moving on, but I finally finished it - 3 whole hours before its recipient walked into my house for our Christmas celebration. A little ridiculous and scary. For me, at least.

This sweater was actually a blast to crochet. The three different stitches meant that I didn't really get bored with it at all. The bottom stitch was my favorite, but the top one was pretty fun, too. The pattern is the Lush Lace Pullover by Lion Brand (you'll have to register to see it, but it's free.)

I like the pattern, but all the same, I had a few complaints: The cuffs are bulky. They are ribbed, to mimic a ribbed cuff on a knitted sweater, but knitted ribs aren't as thick and bulky as crochet ribs. I'm sure it could be done differently (perhaps a smaller hook and added stitches), but if I were to do it again (and I might) I would just start it the same as the hem of the sweater and go directly into the pattern stitch. You don't need the ribbing, it doesn't add anything to the look of the sweater.

The directions to add the sleeve to the bodice were vague and it took me about five tries and 2 hours to figure out how they went on. You basically stitch on the bottom of the sleeve and then crochet the yoke around the top of the sleeve. Which is pretty much not what the instructions say, but once I figured it out, it's a great way to do sleeves where they fall at a really natural angle.

The sizing is also totally wonky. I started it and frogged it three times, starting at a large and ending up with a small. I also left off the funnel neck. I like the funnel neck, but don't think it would be as becoming on my mother-in-law.

The yarn I used was a washable wool blend (she's a nurse - washable is highly important) in the color dark beige. I chose it because it was on sale, and I loved the color. It's a creamy caramel that will go nicely with navy, black, chocolate, khaki and jeans. What more could you ask for?

My mother-in-law seemed to love it and modeled it happily for me.

Ready or Not

You know, of all the Christmases I have survived, this one is the sneakiest. It seems like every time I turn around, I remember something that needs to be done that I haven't done yet. Gifts to be made, wrapped and put together. Food to be baked, cooked, and laid out. A house to clean, sweep and scrub.

I feel like the whole month has slithered through my fingers like sand on the beach. I've done everything on time, so far, although I am in enough of a crunch now, that I am seriously asking if everyone is going to get their presents on the correct day. And if anything will be surrounded in happy wrapping paper and pretty ribbons.

I used to be different. I used to be finished shopping before Thanksgiving and I used to wrap everything the day I put up the tree. I used to get things done and know exactly when I had to have what. I have become a very unorganized shadow of myself. And I'm not sure why.

It's not just Christmas either, although this time of year tends to bring out the worst in my panicky self. It's every facet of my life. I lose more and I forget more than I ever have before. It could be my thyroid. It could be having two kids. It could be that my work-life balance is off somehow. Or it could be that I am just losing it.

The pessimist in me says I'm losing it. Losing my edge, my sharpness. I'll never get it back. I'll always be frantically trying to catch up, to remember everything, to find my stride. The realist says, "Get thee to an endocrinologist."

On the other hand, that would require me remembering a whole host of other things. Things like checking who's covered by the new insurance and getting recommendations and calling to make an appointment. And I just don't ever feel like I have the time for those things.

Right now, I find myself saying over and over and over, "I just need to make it through Christmas and then I'll figure this thing out." No matter what this thing is, I'm convinced that I can handle it pretty much on the 26th. I hope that Sunday doesn't disappoint me.

Five Things on Friday - Chestnuts Edition

We listen to a lot of Christmas music around the Scattered Homestead. I'm not sure I know why, but I (the woman who normally hates all things "schmaltz") cannot get enough "White Christmas" or "Carol of the Bells." This year, Brynna's been listening to the music a little closer than normal and has had some questions about some of the lyrics. I can't answer most of them, maybe you can.

1. "Who tells ghost stories at Christmas?" In "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year," the author makes mention of "Scary ghost stories and tales of the glories of Christmases long, long ago." I have no idea why. I'm kinda with her on this one. Is there some ancient tradition of ghost stories on Christmas Eve or something. Does this refer solely to A Christmas Carol, because that seems like overkill. I mean, yes, classic literature, but really?

2. "Mommy, why are they so mean?" I've got to tell you that Brynna has been happily singing the first verse of "We Wish You a Merry Christmas," for about four years. But this year, she heard the other verses and wanted to know what was up with the "...and bring it right now," nonsense. I got nothing for this. Trick or treaters would be kicked on their tricky butts for behaving this poorly. You'd think carolers could act just as nicely.

3. "Someone should knock the other kiddies down..." I was singing merrily along to "It's Beginning to Look a Lot Like Christmas," when Brynna because enraged that someone would knock down someone else's snowman. Good thing she hasn't had a pumpkin smashed.

4. "Why are there so many sad Christmas songs?" Okay, I'm taking partial blame for this one, because I play "River" whenever I don't like what's on either Christmas station. But, I never thought about it from her perspective. "I'll be Home for Christmas," "Blue Christmas," that very annoying song about meeting the woman in the liquor store and sitting in a cold car all night talking.



5. "Do you have to cover your head?" I was lost in my old little world when this question came. It took me a solid five minutes to figure out what she was even asking. "So jump in bed and cover your head 'cause Santa Claus comes tonight," from "Here Comes Santa Claus."

What are your favorite Christmas songs?

Things That Almost Never Happen

I happen to listen sometimes to this nationally syndicated radio show in the morning that I won't call out by name, mainly because I don't want to bother finding a link. This morning, the topic of their call-in session was horrible things that happened to you during the holiday season working in the service industry. I'm pretty sure they put it more succinctly than I did.

I haven't worked in retail for years and YEARS (for a reason) but I still remember the absolute panic that this time of year inspires in people. Normal people who can usually talk to you sensibly start screaming at you because the print is too light on the receipt or because you messed up their really complicated bagging instructions. Men, who normally don't shop that much say things like, "Well, my wife is about your size, but not as fat. What size would she be?" Dude, a hint, if you call me fat, she's whatever the biggest size we carry is. That way, I still get the sale, but I know that you're getting your rear chewed on Christmas morning.

I laughed maniacally listening to their stories of holiday woe. Including a woman who threw her shoes at a clerk and a man who tried to negotiate down the cost of jewelry at a department store using the current price of gold. One woman called in with a story of a pair of young girls who found her purse (with $500 cash in it) and stood by the customer service desk waiting for her to come back so they could return it. She said, "It was a really nice thing that they didn't have to do and I think that with all the stupid stuff that happens we sometimes forget all the nice stuff that people do, too."

Tonight, I went to the grocery. I loaded my purchases into the back of the car and then began looking around fitfully to determine if I was closer to the cart coral or the store. A very nice gentleman stopped and said, "Mam," (I'll forgive him for that.) "Would you like me just take that for you?"

I've always wondered why more people don't do this. Especially for moms with little ones rolling in the cart. It only takes a second and it's so helpful to the mom who no longer has to figure out how to get the cart where it belongs and the baby back in some horrible type of weather. And you're getting one anyway.

I was overcome I ended up acting a little crazy. Trying like mad to pull Maren out of the cart while her snowboots were stuck and in general panicking that he would shrug and walk away. I ended up taking off her boots in the parking lot and pulling her out without them.

This isn't the first nice thing anyone has done to me this time of year, either. When I was in retail, there was never any shortage of guys to tell me I was fat, but there was also no shortage of people going out of their way to put things back right and say thank you. And while there was always some stressed-put woman ready to cuss you out over the darkness of the receipt ink, there were three of four people waiting in line behind them to give you a sympathetic smile and make sure you knew you were appreciated.

I try to be one of those people. I almost never go in a store this time of year without picking a rack and straightening it. Turning all the hangers the right way and sizing the items. It's just one rack, but it's one rack that, hopefully, some stressed out college kid doesn't have to worry about in a couple of hours.

But frankly, I've been feeling lately like I've been wasting my time. No one else is being careful, I'm just a drop of rain in the desert. Today, it was nice having a couple of reminders that there really is a downpour, it's just that all that sand makes us hard to see. (And yes, terrible analogy, but it's what I got, kay?)

What's the nicest thing that has been done for you this time of year by a total stranger?

The 12 Days of Christmas

I love how Brynna is taking direction and Maren seems to be
saying, "Oh no, this is my last bite of cookie! What shall I do?"

Have you noticed the obsession with this concept this year? It seems everywhere I turn, I'm being inundated with a veritable countdown via Christmas movies, dessert recipes, crochet patterns and game bonuses. It's not that I mind, it's more like for the first time ever, this has totally snuck up on me. I'm vaguely aware that it is December, and therefore the Christmas season. My tree is up, we've gone to see Santa and most of my shopping is done, it's just, I'm not quite ready.

My first big family celebration is this weekend and I still haven't decided what to bring. At this point, I'm leaning toward chips and salsa to reduce my stress level (ever so slightly). I am still not totally done Christmas shopping, haven't figured out what Brynna's class is doing (if anything) and I haven't got my Christmas-time to do finalized.

I know that this seems like I am overcomplicating something fairly simple. And perhaps if I don't do these things, if I do take chips and salsa and I wrap most of my gifts on Christmas Eve and I finish up my shopping on my way home on the 23rd, and we don't do all of our holiday traditions, I'll still have a perfectly merry Christmas. I could believe that. I do tend to make things harder than they have to be.

I spent the weekend sick in bed, moving as little as possible, because almost all movement hurt. Also, despite the fact that I never seemed to run a fever, I took turns burning up and freezing to death. I spent most of that time alternately wrapped and unwrapped in blankets watching Christmas movies on TV. I love Christmas movies, even the really cheesy ones. I love how just putting Christmas in the title allows you to discount good acting, script writing and effects, as long as there is some schmaltzy ending where everything works out and everyone learns a lesson about the "true" meaning of Christmas. I put that in quotes because nearly all the movies disagree about the "true" meaning of Christmas.

In any case, one of these movies was the very formulaic plot of woman wishes for a new life, woman gets new life, woman wishes she hadn't wished for new life and has to jump through a bunch of crazy hoops to get real life back. I turned it off before the end because my kids came home and I wanted to pretend to feel better and talk to them, so maybe she ended up being stuck in her new life, miserable and without her husband and kids. Who knows?

In any case, the beginning has a voice over where she talks about how much she used to love Christmas and how she now hates it. She hates it because women, who are already supposed to be superheroes, managing home, kids and career while our husbands (many times, but not always) are lovable goofballs who need our constant direction. (And even when that's not the case, it's kind of assumed to be the case, isn't it? When was the last time you heard someone say, "Wow, their house is a mess, what is that man thinking, letting it get like that?" or "I can't believe they didn't bring anything for the bake sale. Doesn't he know how important this is for our school?") I've gone off on a tangent, but her point was that during Christmas, that intensifies. The volunteer commitments double, the kid commitments triple, and the family commitments quadruple. All the while, we're getting no slack at work, the house is still a mess and there are no groceries. (Or maybe that last part is just me.)

I found myself, even in my can't-stand-to-get-out-of-bed misery nodding sympathetically. I've never wished for a new life and I wouldn't wish away a single solitary holiday commitment. I am one of those crazy masochists that starts listening to Christmas music in November and looks forward to this time of year, starting in January. I love the extra time with family, the cute kid plays and recitals, the extra cookies and the constant smell of baking. It's worth it, it really is.

There is always a piece of me that wishes that my kids could possibly have a holiday memory of me where I'm not losing my mind, running around like a chicken with a disconnected spinal cord and fussing at every little thing left in the floor. (Not to mention the dirty footprints on my tree skirt. Seriously people, who is standing on my tree skirt at all, let alone in their shoes? This is why we never put out the good one anymore, because I don't trust you!) I try to relax, I really do, but I've got that to do list ticking away in my head, tick, tick, tick - what kind of cookies are you making for Santa? Tick, tick, tick - have we done the annual watching of It's a Wonderful Life? Tick, tick, tick - did we get presents for the teachers? Oh no, I don't think we got presents for the teachers? Oh crap, what can I get the teachers?!?

I'd like to promise to do better, but I won't. I will stress this stuff until I die, I know I will and I'll be the queen of Christmas at our house, until I'm the only one left in my house. And for the most part, I will enjoy every minute of it. But every year, there will be one day, like today, where I'll wonder what the hell I'm doing and why I'm doing it.

Christmas Cards by Shutterfly

Shutterfly is holding a promotion where bloggers who write about their experience and some of their favorite Shutterfly products get 50 free photo holiday cards of their choice. If you've never used Shutterfly, I can't recommend them enough. I get prints of all my pictures through them and have even ordered a large format print that is framed in my living room. The quality, in my opinion, cannot be beat. They even tell you if the resolution for your photo is too low for the format you choose.

And I had ordered prints from them for a while,but then Maren was born and I realized why I really love them. After fighting with about a million sites trying to come up with the perfect birth announcements for my new angel, I finally thought, "Hey, I think Shutterfly does cards. Let's try there." Wow. Does Shutterfly ever do cards! I got the most lovely design with dragonflies, but they don't seem to carry that one anymore. The great thing is that there are thousands of designs and you can change so much that you don't need a baby card for a birth announcement, you can just find something else you like and baby it up. The same is true with almost all of their designs. Here is the design I'm getting for Christmas.

What I've never gotten is their photo gifts, but boy are there some cute things.  I especially love these stickers which would be wicked cute for sealing your Christmas cards, party invitations or birth announcements. I also love the canvas wall art and the keepsake boxes.

In case I didn't make this clear, this has been a sponsored post. Shutterfly is gifting me with free Christmas cards in exchange for posting about my experiences with Shutterfly. These are, however, my words and my opinions.

Five Things on Friday – Long Car Rides Edition

I adore my children, but sometimes, sometimes, I could just sit on them and squish to loudness right out of them. This morning was one of those mornings. There are certain things my kids do, primarily in the car, that drive me right over the freakin’ edge. This morning they did all of them. Then I got a flat tire. Which just proves that God has a sense of humor. You know what God, just quit laughing at me.

Ah, the good ole days. When one of you couldn't talk!

1.    Repeating – You know that thing kids do where they try to drive their siblings and parents crazy by repeating everything someone says. Maren is doing that. I’m not sure if she’s just figured out it drives us crazy or if this is some weird speech development phase, but here’s a sample:

Brynna: I wish that McDonald’s…
Maren: I wiss that Donals…
Brynna: (valiantly trying again) I wish that McDonald’s…
Maren: I wiss that Donals…
Brynna: I’m trying to talk now.
Maren: (Louder) I’m trying to talk now.
Brynna: (Turning on massive amounts of whine) It’s my turn to talk.
Maren: (Getting really loud now) It’s my turn to talk.
Brynna: You’re driving me crazy.
Maren: You’re driving me crazy.
Brynna: Mommy!
Maren: Mommee!
Me: Silence Game! Let’s play the silence game!

2.     Lights – I drive a minivan. Full of conveniences. There are 8 cupholders in my van. There are only seven seats. I love this. One of the many conveniences is that almost every seat has its very own reading light. Which rocks. Except that my kids have decided that they are incapable of riding in dark car. What’s weird is that they have opposite car light needs. Brynna insists on having the light on when we are on the way home. Because she is afraid of the dark. Maren is content to look out the window at the stars coming out and the moon on the breast of the new fallen snow. However, Maren insists on having the light on in the mornings on the way to school. Brynna likes to spend this time either pretending to sleep so I’ll feel guilty (doesn’t work) or chattering endlessly. Either way, she doesn’t need a light. The problem with the light is that it makes it hard to drive. I can’t see right when the light is on and my rearview mirror will then only show my kids, not the cars behind me. Plus, for some reason it makes me sleepy in the morning. I can’t explain why, but if I can drive in the dark, I am a lot more alert.

3.    Shoes – Maren has this weird need to take off her shoes in the car. I don’t know what possesses her to do this, but it means that when we get where we are going, I have to stand in the rain, snow, sleet, blinding wind and crippling cold to put those boots back on before we go in the house. Which really wears on me.

4.    Kicking – My mom used to yell at me all the tine about putting my feet on the back of her seat in the car. I would swear that she was lying, there was no way she could feel that. Now, I know that she was being gentle. My back is pretty much always killing me when I get to work. As soon as I say “No,” or “Stop that,” or “Please just stop fighting,” the crying and kicking starts.

5.    Singing Different Songs at the Same Time – They get this from The Husband. He will happily ignore the radio and sing (just loud enough for us to hear) whatever song strikes his fancy. Which irritates me to no end. Either sing what’s on the radio or turn the radio off, but I can’t handle the opposing songs game. And now Brynna does it to irritate me; which is bad enough, and then Maren has to do whatever Brynna does, so she sings a different song twice as loud and I swear one day my head is going to pop off my shoulders and go rolling down the Interstate.

What do your kids do that drives you crazy?

Something New

I needed a little shake-up. I had planned to do what I did last year and redesign around New Year's. I like the idea of a whole new look for a whole new year. But, I like the idea of a little something new and shiny right now. This is sort of the season of shiny and new, but unfortunately in my house, that mostly means pink plastic and you can guess how I feel about pink plastic.

Purple scribbles, though... Sign me up!

Let me know what you think of the new design. I know I'm losing a bit of functionality with the little menu on the top, so sometime soon, I'll be building a FAQ page, an About Me page and a Contact Me page. Speaking of which, please include your FAQ's so I'll have some Q's to A.

You Should Be A Writer

We've got a new girl in the office. She's nice enough and she listens as I prattle on endlessly and quite possibly most importantly, she's a good cook who sometimes brings leftovers. In any case, the other day she brought up ghosts, which as you may remember from my ghost stories posts, I believe are real. But, you know, there are things I don't lead with. If I've just met you in person, I'm probably not going to tell you that I believe in ghosts, am unhealthily obsessed with Charles Manson or think that fried pickles taste like magic wrapped in happiness.

But, there we were and what do you say when someone asks you point blank if you believe in ghosts? If you're me, you say Yes and then you frantically start trying to defend yourself by telling every ghost story in your repertoire.

At the end of this deluge of creepiness and vague "proof," she said those frightening, horrible, magical, wonderful four words that simultaneously make me glow and tremble in fear, "You should be a writer." Which is a wonderful compliment. It's sort of like saying, "You are really wonderful storyteller," or possibly, "You talk way too much it would more manageable in print where I could ignore it." But I choose to take it as a compliment.

In any case, I never know what to say to that, so I said what I usually say, "Well, I do write a blog and I write short stories from time to time."

"No," she responded, "I mean you should be a real writer and get published."

And there it is. "A real writer."

And I understand what she means. Although I'm sitting here right now bristling with "Real writer, my lily white asphodel," I still don't ever feel like a "real" writer. I feel like a real writer writes more often and gets published by a bunch of people deciding it's valid and good, rather than by hitting a button at the bottom of the screen that says "Publish."

Brynna loves art. The way I love writing, she loves art. And because I know what it's like to grow up with that kind of love, imagining yourself living in a cardboard box while you try to make your dream pay the bills and fearing losing it while you try to find just a few minutes a day to do what you love the most, I have a mantra that I repeat with her over and over.

"What's an artist?" I ask.

"A person who creates art," she dutifully answers.

"So, you are an artist right now and as long as you continue to create art, you'll be an artist, right?"

"Right!"

And that applies to writers too, I think. A writer is a person who writes. And I'm writing, right now, I'm pounding out a blog post and hoping this is done before Brynna is ready for me to read to her. And I'm hoping that I have ten minutes or so before bed to write that description that I couldn't get the other day.

If I never get published, I'll still be a writer, because I will still write. On the other hand, being a writer without an audience is a little bit like that old tree falling in the woods bit. If you write something and have no audience to read it, did you make a difference?

If it's an audience that makes a writer and most of my fiction is hanging on out harddrives and in notebooks, then you guys are what separates me from oblivion. And I appreciate that.

Thank you for making me a writer.

The Problem with Pictures

I took a lot of pictures in high school. Ask anyone who was there, I was typically the girl with the camera in front of my face. My friends were more or less always annoyed by my insistence on committing every single moment to film. Making people freeze in mid-kiss or asking them to do that thing they just did over and over and over again, trying to catch it. And this was before digital cameras. All of these pictures required the expense of film and developing.

I have a lot fewer pictures of college. Some, enough, I guess, but not nearly as many as high school. But here's the thing: no one, and I mean NO ONE remembers me in college as the girl with the camera in front of her face.

I was active in high school: I was in speech and drama and academic team and I went and I competed and I acted silly and had sleepovers and called boys and then totally froze on the phone. I did all of the things you did. I had inside jokes and wrote abysmal poetry and cried myself to sleep at night and laughed myself to sleep at night. I was an overachiever if ever the world has seen one. But I was honestly more interested in standing to the side and taking pictures than of actually participating and enjoying life. I always felt like I was right there at the edge and not in the middle of it, so I gave myself an excuse to be on the edge. I took my camera everywhere and I snapped constantly.

In college, I wasn't just in the middle, I wallowed in the middle. I participated in a lot less - radio and forensics were about it, but I was involved in everything. I was never without something to do, never bored, never left out, never alone. And, so I got caught up from time to time and didn't remember to take pictures.

Now, here I am, technology on my side, digital camera and a blog to show off things so I don't even have to make prints. I have a flickr account, a facebook account and I would never have to print another picture as long as I lived if I didn't want to. It would be okay.

And despite this, I don't take many pictures. I want to, I really do. I didn't manage to take any pictures of Maren's birthday, none. On Sunday, my girls dressed in their loveliest items and there was snow everywhere and any mom worth her salt would have taken some pictures of them running around pink faced in the snow. But not me.

I carry my camera around. But I don't take it out and take pictures. Because I don't want to stop what I'm doing. At Maren's birthday, I opened packaging and helped her unwrap stuff. I watched her and laughed and played and helped her build with her brand new blocks. I should have taken pictures. I know I should have taken pictures. There is a voice in my head constantly telling me to take more pictures, to do it now, that I can still enjoy all this with a camera in front of my face. And another voice telling the first voice to shut up. We are having fun.

Purging

I have come to a conclusion in my life. A big one. I hold on for too long. I am a holder-onner. It's not that I am a packrat, no matter what my well-intentioned husband might say to the contrary. It's not that I hoard everything I've ever had. To the contrary, I take some sick pleasure in throwing out those things which I deem worthy of throwing out. I love a good garage sale, despite my obvious lack of garage, and I don't quibble a bit about donating clothes which can no longer contain my ample behind.

It's just that I don't want to get rid of anything meaningful. Or anything that used to be meaningful. This has been coming to a head in many different arenas lately. For starters, my bloggies that I read. I love my bloggies and I read obsessively, even when I am taking an unannounced, unplanned, un-everything hiatus from posting. But here's the thing: I am reading (obsessively even) blogs that I don't enjoy. There is one in particular, and I shan't name names, who seems to feel it's her job to tell everyone else how to act all the time. Her posts are sometimes funny, but more often than not, they are ranty diatribes about why one shouldn't ever do this or say  that. How terrible it is when commenters comment like this, or when shoppers shop like that.

Sometimes my annoyance at this is clearly a case of ouchie toes. I realize that I am doing something that annoys her and if it annoys her, then it probably annoys a lot of people and I don't like being annoying. This is okay. I don't mind being called out on something from time to time. In fact, if I don't know it's annoying I may never stop doing it, so I almost appreciate it. Sometimes though, I just feel, I don't know, preached to. Here's the thing. We are all different people. Every stinkin' one of us. And that means that we all react to situations differently. Some of these reactions are clearly wrong. Some are clearly right. Some are more gray area. If I am within the gray area, maybe I should just be allowed to stay there. Maybe I shouldn't have to listen once a day to all the things that annoy a single person and try desperately to make myself completely inoffensive to everyone on the planet by never, ever doing any of those things.

And all the things I don't do - I will admit, I found those endearing at first. "I know! Right!" I would think at my screen. I would even comment telling a story of how I was similarly wronged by someone doing something that had nothing to do with me at all. And I would feel all justified. But lately, I don't feel that way. I feel like the Judgey McJudgerson has got to stop. And all of that, "Put on your big girl panties because this is internet and people are horrible here," crap? Don't buy it. There are plenty of places on the Internet where people are not horrible.

And I feel like I'm singling this person out, but it's not meant to be like that. It's just that I once felt one way and now I feel another, and yet I feel like I can't quit her. Because it might hurt her feelings maybe? Or because I might change my mind again? Or because I'd miss her? I don't know. But there are more besides. More blogs that I just don't get excited about anymore.

And more things in my life. Christmas decorations that never come out of the decoration bins because I don't love them anymore. Craft supplies that go un-used because I've quit doing that craft. Books that are still boxed from my move - THREE YEARS AGO - because I don't really have any feelings about needing to find them or wanting to re-read them. I keep things, not because I need them, want them or love them, but because I used to need them, want them or love them.

And it seems to me that this is a problem. A problem I should fix. I should clean out my blog roll, I should clean out my basement, I should clean out my closet. But I am afraid. Afraid of what might happen when it's all gone. What if one day I really, really need a floor lamp, but I've gotten rid of all mine because they were just standing around in the basement, illuminating the washing machine? Or if I suddenly remember a concert t-shirt and have a horrible longing to remember it, but it's gone? Or if I wonder impulsively what happened to so-and-so who I used to read, but I can't find her anymore.

Which sounds horrible. It sounds like someone should sign me up for the repulsive show where we all point at the mentally ill and gape because they have soo much stuff! And maybe this is how it starts. Maybe in 20 years, I'll be wishing I could find my shotgun so I could scare these darn camera crews out of my living room. But I don't think so.

In any case, I'm not here to audition for a show I loathe. I'm here to come clean about something and start making amends.

My name is Jessi and I am not a hoarder or even a packrat, but I am a holder onner and I know I need to quit. I am just made sad by all the things that no longer hold any appeal. I am just depressed by those glimpses into a life I no longer lead and I want to start fresh: surrounded by the things I love right now, by the things that don't make me sad, the things that bring me joy and a feeling of connection to a larger world.

I shall start with my blog roll and perhaps this weekend I will foray ever so slightly and slowly into a basement filled with things I used to love. Wish me luck, for there may be dragons lurking in the deep. But who knows, maybe as I slowly sort and stack and think and purge, I'll find some hidden gems that still make me happy but were buried under things that made me sad.